


Bloodless Winter

by Talontales



Series: In Winter's Grasp [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Cataclysm, Dialogue Heavy, Drama, F/F, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:48:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27823255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talontales/pseuds/Talontales
Summary: Strike-Commander Trienza Shadespire of the Knights of the Ebon Blade aims for the future, but has her head haunted by the past - a past stolen and missed.Livia Maddison of clan Moranin from Gilneas upholds the past, but looks forward to the future - a future which strikes away the fetters of binding fealty.In the midst and throes of their separate curses, they find a solace and salvation in each other, which can shield them from an unforgiving world.
Relationships: Original Female High Elf Character/Original Female High Elf Character (past), Original Female Undead High Elf Character/Original Female Worgen Character
Series: In Winter's Grasp [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1193698
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Of a day in spring

**Author's Note:**

> **Main characters:** Trienza Shadespire _(Female High Elf Death Knight OC)_ , Uliviagean "Livia" Maddison Moranin _(Female Worgen Druid OC)_ , Efaria Mavily _(Female High Elf OC)_  
>  **Secondary characters:** Anisra Sah'nir _(Female High Elf Mage OC)_ , Jedleyn Sah'nir _(Male High Elf Mage OC)_ , Rivaryn Silvershroud _(Female High Elf Hunter OC)_ , Sydela _(Female Night Elf Death Knight OC)_ , Lah'kur _(Female Amani Troll Death Knight OC)_ , Wilthorn Siddall _(Male Human Death Knight OC)_ , Ryanegosa _(Female Frostwyrm OC)_ , Sylvanas Windrunner, Jaina Proudmoore, Darion Mograine, Thassarian, Koltira Deathweaver, Lireesa Windrunner (past)
> 
> _Hello there, I'm Claire Talon_
> 
> _This is not the continuation of Rivaryn's and Thariss' adventures, but it belongs to the same storyline, and it features Trienza, who was in the last fic. I also wrote a one-shot with her a while ago. I will stress that I intend to resume with their Cata timeline fic after this one._   
>  _In essence, this is a story about two romances with Trienza, one current and one in the past, but also about Trienza's life at large. I'll also be exploring the unlife of death knights and the curse of the worgen a bit. Nothing too grand. And yes, as can be spotted in the character list I will incorporate a few major official characters in secondary roles, which I'm not used to, but we'll see how it goes._
> 
> _I've also got a[blog page](https://creativebankruptcies.blogspot.com/2018/12/wow-characters.html) with some basic profiles. As of right now, I don't have one for Livia, but I'll get on it at my earliest convenience ___

The Plaguelands. The inexorable setting of sorrow and everlasting withering, a tomorrow lost and reaped by a darkness none could’ve foreseen and yet one that has now become as ordinary as the flows of the days. In the world of Azeroth, no one has before experienced, imbibed or touched upon such an exhaustive piece of dwindling, where the very air appears to suffuse one’s lungs with a sense of aging prematurely.

But however you cut it, to those positioned on the floating stones of Acherus, the Ebon Hold, it is but an everyday occurrence, the reality and only life they now know. Death is not a discontinuation of life for them to shy away from, but their agony.  
Strike-Commander Trienza Shadespire of the Knights of the Ebon Blade is collecting her thoughts on this precise premise, settled upon a balcony on the southern verge of the necropolis, her atypically pale skin reflecting the dim light of the sun behind the clouds, her tenuously moldered auburn back-length strands held in place by a metal hairband, stirring in the cold breeze.

She peers out across the cold and plagued realm below, the one begrimed by her tormentors’ onslaught against the earth and the populace which once inhabited these fields.  
Tormentors? Well, in truth, solely one and for a spell, he was proving unreachable. Though, that is not to say that he genuinely was as absent from legitimate death as they had feared.

Several months ago, she witnessed this herself, in her battle against her master for the previous half a decade – the Lich King, the onetime Prince of Lordaeron, Arthas Menethil. The tyrant of the north. Although she harbors few regrets for her participation in that terrible struggle, she won’t unearth to anyone that she is mildly disappointed that she never struck the deathblow to him up there, at the apex of the Icecrown Citadel. In fact, she never even plummeted into his hide, for he was caught up with others, heroes of the Horde and the Alliance, whilst she was in a progressing matchup with one of his champions of the frost vrykul. For the sake of her fallen comrades in the Ebon Blade, she would’ve been thrilled to sever him from the threads of life. But creation is at its effective structure not so creditable.

Since that day, Trienza’s standing has been slower, almost vacant. Though it’s not for lack of opportunities – she hears that the world is yet again in a state of peril, with the noise of rising draconic interference, and how the frontlines of the Horde and the Alliance have been drawn. A new Warchief sits athwart the throne of the Horde, and the Alliance’s southern ‘King’ is ever one to respond in kind. Fools. _Children_. They never learn, do they? One brick tumbles to the surface, but another manifests to smash them square in the teeth.

Unflagging battle isn’t an element that Trienza herself seeks, and she hasn’t taken up arms for quite some time. It’s not merely considering the neutrality of the Ebon Blade either – that urge to murder which the Lich King instilled in his death knights, it has not left them. It is a layer of their makeup, and it…unsettles her. Trienza refuses to give in to its enduring calls, to be seduced by its iniquity. She is not a tool, nor a weapon. She may have been treated as such, but it shall not stand, _ever_.

She then glances down upon the item clutched in the red-black gauntlets of her hands, the ebony hilt and pommel of the runeblade she was bestowed in the formative months of her ‘career’ as this twisted character of knight. Viri’valheen, ‘Sorrow’s Desire’, was the designation she etched into its shell, one that was determined by sheer instinct and not any deliberate and well-founded forethought. It has pursued her steps from that fateful day, and despite that she does not relish its presence, she can handily put her finger on what impulse produced the name.

Bearing her icy blue eyes to the land before her, multiple hundreds of meters under the base of the necropolis, noting the yellow-tinge of the loam, her sight blurs. It is akin to an impactful day divorced of this one, the late spring morning…  
  


* * *

  
_It was late spring, wasn’t it? All told, it’s cumbersome to even guess when you reside in the lands of Eternal Summer, with tree crowns that are habitually stuck in a state of what some consider to be autumn. For the elves of Quel’Thalas, it came down to broadly discerning it by the course of the sun and the far-off winds of the sea, as anything in the perimeter of the Sunwell would be heated to perfection._   
_In the south, the seasons alternated with a bit more differentiation, owing to their lengthy space apart from the capital._

_Albeit on this select day, she is not held in the training grounds of her recruits. No, Farstrider Ranger-Captain Trienza Sah’nir is uncharacteristically situated in what can at best be articulated as a boardroom, or an administrative hall, with a number of other members of nobility and eminent families, sitting in a circle about a grand oak table. A sign on the exterior of the door reads ‘Royal Proprietary Conservation Oversight Committee’, some of the dullest collection of words cognitively brought together, as far as Trienza is concerned._

_And what could a military mind and tactical aficionado like Trienza be doing here? Well, she would decidedly never delve into it by choice. No, she arrived by request from the woman upon the chair to her left._   
_This older madame is as light-skinned as Trienza herself, albeit she showcases the tolls of age deeper than the Captain, for she is centuries her senior. An accumulation of faintly greying dark fire-red strands are clustered into an elegant bun upon her head, and would she be standing, this lithe mage’d allow her ten centimeter shorter height to accessible._

_The lilac sight of Magister Anisra Sah’nir intermittently traverses to her elder child, but she can glean how the boredom on the Captain’s face does not diminish. Trienza_ hates _administration. For what damn purpose did her mother_ insist _that she comes along? By now, she should be damn well aware it will not affect the results. Simply in response to being a noblewoman ought not be decent enough excuse. Trienza did not plead to be born into this status, nor does she prize it._

_And it’s not that battle is the one thing which suits her needs or anything. That has nothing to do with it. It’s rather that she has a palate for a simple life. Protect Quel’Thalas from outward threats, drill her recruits, maintain an effective status of their defenses, obey her superiors, go home and rest, have a drink or two every now and then, get in a few swimming sessions during her holidays. Repetitive and stern to some, but relaxing to her. It’s the existence she thrives in._   
_But bureaucracy? It’s anything but, and the needless complexity it portrays gives her a headache. Whose brainchild was it to construct it to begin with? Whoever they might’ve been, they were woefully inept._

_With the meeting done in roughly three hours, having half-slept through it with open eyes, she catches the racket of rising legs and sliding chairs. At long last…_   
_But she does not gain a great distance from her seat, prior to her mother seizing her arm._   
_“Trienza, dear?”_

_Curse it all…_   
_“…what now?”, she mutters._

_Anisra’s brow creases irritatedly, but she doesn’t comment on this petulant tone._   
_“I hope that you listened closely in the course of this assembly.”_

_The Captain sidetracks her gaze and shrugs._   
_“What do you think?”_

_“Dear, this was an influential get-together for the purposes of preservation of the abodes for the country in full, distinctly ours with an expansive history.”_

_“What do you care for my house? You never did before. It was a forgotten relic prior to my occupation of it. Had to renovate it myself, in case you’ve forgotten already.”_

_Anisra emits a muffled groan, her gaze boring into her daughter with disapproval._   
_“…regardless, that was ages ago, yes? It will need to be evaluated and accounted for if it necessitates a new overhaul. Towards that end, a representative has come forth.”_

_She then indicates a lady who stands somewhat behind her, making way for her now. The vision which emerges before Trienza is one that practically sparkles with fairness. Shoulder-length and curly ruby hair tilted to the left, dark blue eyes imitating the glint of the ocean, medium brown complexion, full lips that are slightly painted in mahogany, round nose, and further down, a shape which itself is fuller than she would say of herself or her mother, which is but vaguely obscured by the pine green well-fitting dress she wears. And that smell of her, is it…mauvelight bloom? A southern flower. Trienza has some planted in her garden._

_With a courteous grade of her lips and a notebook in her hand, she politely dips her head._   
_“It’s a pleasure, lady Trienza. I am Efaria Mavily, senior assessor of the Royal Propriety Conservation Oversight Committee.”_

_Hmph. Trienza’s eyebrows knit as she crosses her arms. Is this some manner of ploy? The least her mother could do is know that she’s not so effortlessly cowed by beauty or charm. Accordingly, she is noticeably confused and sparingly perturbed. What could her mother possibly seek to gain by using this belle? She’s not going to sit and listen to hours of tedious paperwork purely due to nice company._   
_“Captain, actually.”_

_“Ah, my apologies, Captain Trienza.” She then lifts her hand and offers it. “I was hoping you and I could have a chat as to the nature and welfare of your house.”_

_Although it’s an accommodating offer, the Captain rolls her eyes, deviating to another angle and glances at her parent._   
_“No thank you.” She hates bureaucrats. This is exactly why she keeps her feet well away from Silvermoon._

_“Uh, but I believe it would be suitable for us to-“_

_“It would suit me more not to engage in this monotony.” She stares at Anisra. “Mother, I’ve no interest handling this drivel. You take care of it – I’m busy.”_

_“What?”, Anisra exclaims. “Now listen here, you can’t simply-“ But prior to any thorough complaints from the Magister, Trienza waves nonchalantly and walks out the door. “Trienza!”_   
_Her mother grunts, all but growling to herself, and clutches her fist._   
_“Damn her. Should’ve raised her with some sense of civility…”_   
_She drives herself to Efaria and her eyebrows slump, taking the younger woman’s hand._   
_“I apologize, miss Mavily. My daughter can be a handful to manage. She’s always been…willful.”_

_But Efaria merely smiles, now with a peculiar pinch of amusement at the same time as she peers after Trienza. Subsequently, she lowers her head slightly at Anisra._   
_“No need for concern, my lady. I will not give up without a fight, rudeness or no.”_   
  


* * *

  
“Commander”, is the word that shatters her daydreaming, her frame mildly squirming involuntarily.

Readjusting herself to reality, the high elf glances about and then steers her optics to the north in the Ebon Hold, where she feasts her eyes on a familiar man far, _far_ younger than herself. The pale grey visage of this human is disguised in the dark grey-blue gear of his skull-accessorized heavy armor, fitted with horns on his helmet and shoulder pads, and a great runeblade hanging from his back.  
“Highlord”, Trienza states coldly but calmly to Darion Mograine, present-day head of the Knights of the Ebon Blade, a lad she has willingly followed for the last year or so, in the conclusion of their newfound freedom.  
But nevertheless, Trienza can’t scratch the notion of a precise roadblock between the two, for while he stands as overhead, the elf is centuries his senior. Not that she hasn’t been commanded by younger people anterior to this day, but her experience lends her an express sort of…defiance that cannot be denied without question. In spite of that, she does have a habit of complying, admitting it does not offend her senses.  
"You need something?"

“Yes. Was looking for you, to be exact. I have a critical mission for you. Well…more of a favor to ask, to be fair.”

The elf spins on her heel, still grasping Viri’valheen in her gauntlets.  
“I’m listening.”

The human drags in a breath, a mere vestigial reflex than a factual exertion.  
“We’ve had words of our peripheral agents. How apprised have you stayed of the present conflict?”

Trienza’s sight keeps on him, but her inner thoughts roam outward.  
“The Alliance and the Horde butting heads once more, you mean? Like the juveniles they are”, she states harshly.

With an ounce of hesitation, Darion nods.  
“Mm. That said, they were spurred by Deathwing’s attacks on their lands…”

“Bah. Then fight the _dragon_ , not themselves. But I suppose they’ve not learned the merits of unity in the vein which we have. Azeroth would sleep sounder would it be true.  
But to respond, other than skirmishes to the west of our location in Lordaeron, and some…unnamed quarters in Kalimdor, I’ve received little. We’ve been booked with activities of our own, which you well know.”

“Aye, I do. Securing our positions down below, which I’m grateful for. But to emphasize, the conflict has been two-fold – one versus Deathwing and his Old God compatriots, and the other with scenarios between the Horde and the Alliance in the liminal spaces. Although we’ve not had a heap of news from either side, we do know that there was a contest of wills and swords in Andorhal barely a few weeks past.”

“Andorhal? Was that not one of the locations your Prince sacked in his crusade?”

With a dour sense, Darion dips his head.  
“So it was. Beyond that day, it was overtaken by the Scourge and then now, the forsaken and remnants of the human citizens fought over the remains. In hopes of…reclaiming their homes, I suspect.”

Trienza frowns.  
“Hmph. We are not forsaken, but they are citizens of Lordaeron as well, are they not? Simply being walking corpses doesn’t remove that fact.”

Darion languishes in a bout of silence for some scant moments, seeing the correlations with their own state.  
“Of course. But I didn’t come to you to argue regarding the semantics of life or death. You see, two of ours happened to…immerse themselves in this showdown, on each side. Which unfortunately pitted them against one another.”

The Commander’s grip on her blade hardens.  
“…dammit. Let me guess – Thassarian and Koltira?”

Darion tilts his head faintly to the left.  
“So, you have partaken of tidings on their movements?”

“Far from it, but those two remain stubbornly bogged down in idiocy wherever they go. Ever choosing sides when not needed to be taken. And they nevertheless don’t learn that it will one day force them to tangle with each other, a consequence they wish to avoid.”

“You have the right of it, and that’s what took place amidst Andorhal.”

“Of course it did”, she grumbles bitterly.

“Thassarian was a volunteering liaison to the Alliance, Koltira to the Horde. Initially, it was to grapple with fragments of the Scourge, and allegedly, they had predicted it wouldn’t spill out into a quarrel in opposition of each other…”

“But they spoke too soon.”

“Indeed. The forsaken and Andorhal’s living clashed and the two of them were railroaded down a confrontation. But instead of adhering to such orders, they cooperated to eliminate a final Scourge affiliation and then ceased hostilities.  
Such conspiration with the enemy did not sit well with the Banshee Queen, and thus she arrested Koltira, locking him up in the Undercity.”

Trienza groans – the specimen of emission that’s from the soul, her fingers rubbing the bridge of her nose.  
“I see. But whatever would spur the forsaken to put one of ours in charge of their troops to begin with? He was a death knight by any measure.”

Darion shrugs.  
“I wish I knew.”

The quel’dorei stares at him, sensing there are spare details.  
“And then?”

The Highlord clears his throat.  
“And then…Thassarian progressed off from the Alliance forces, en route to the Undercity. He…attempted to free Koltira.”

“…alone?”

“Alone.”

Trienza’s groan now has a semblance of a growl.  
“Idiot.”

Darion is more sensitive of his subordinates’ nature and does not offer consent on this insult.  
“He failed with his try and was imprisoned as well.”

“Was he now?”, Trienza almost shouts sarcastically. “Naturally he was captured, the blasted lovestruck meathead! Those two may be talented in a fight, but they’re damn liabilities when it comes to strategy, leadership and goddamn common sense!  
And you! You ought not have sent them at all! What in the Sun’s blaze were you thinking?!”

“Commander”, he protest softly, “they wanted to do something right, and they’ve always had the best for us all in mind. I couldn’t have foreseen that they’d be placed in this position.”

Trienza seethes and shifts her head away, to the view from the balcony.  
“Excuses from each one of you. And by virtue of these irrationalities, we now have a political debacle on our hands.”

“That we do.”

Most people wouldn’t get to yell at their superior with such fervor and denigrating tones, but Darion respects Trienza, and is sensible of her outsizing knowhow.  
“And now what? Do you have a game plan?”

They are big oafs, the two of them, that is indisputable, but there are supplementary snags. She’s not inflamed by means of simple indignation at the action or the catastrophic result, since she cares too. They may be airheads, but they’re Ebon Knights, her juniors in the Order. And you don’t kick your own to the curb. Darion foresaw this.  
“Of a sort. It does comprehend you, were that not clarified enough.”

Trienza echoes her scowl at him.  
“And what would you have of me?”

“The bottom line is that I’ve afforded the forsaken to keep two of my men hostage, which you’re bound to realize in turn. I require that they’re freed, but…the outcome of my own deliberations is unlikely to be as fruitful as having you go in my stead.”

The Commander drills her retinas harder.  
“How so? I’m no diplomat.”

“You’re not, but you and the Banshee Queen are better affiliated than me. It so happens that the way you’re familiar with her renders everyone else insignificant.”

“Tsk. I wouldn’t phrase it in that fashion. She and I were not friends. We were colleagues.”

“The pair of you were officers in the Farstriders, capable soldiers _and_ women of distinguished families. You must’ve interacted on quite a few instances.”

She doesn’t relish the impression he’s conveying…or that he’s got a point.  
“…perhaps.”

“I don’t doubt your words, Commander, but from the Ebon Blade, I couldn’t pick a candidate which surpasses you.”

Now, she glares with further impetus, but emits air from her nose.  
“…I will concede to that.”

“I shan’t force you, but…”

Hmph. Ridiculous boy – it’d be more tactful to just come out and say it.  
“Fine”, she tells him unhappily. “I’ll go. But this is depending on that I get to act with the full authority of the Ebon Blade.”

“Granted, without question. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“You don’t need to tell me.”  
She then hoists Viri’valheen, attaches it to her back and strolls past him.  
“You owe me for this one”, and at which point she passes him by, she affixes, “youngster.”


	2. Quintet roll call

Strike-Commander is a title and rank which Trienza was furnished pending the introductory phase of the Knights of the Ebon Blade’s inauguration. Her first _free_ title. Previous to that, she had been Instructor of the death knights birthed and honed in the Icecrown Citadel, one of the initial throng of abominations that the Lich King saw fit to produce in his vain grasp for power.

Trienza strong-armed the position for herself from Darion and the others of dominant degrees, for she thirsted to be at the headmost location of destroying their old master. And she was, by and large, even up to the night where they invaded the Citadel…and yet she never got her final blow on him. A pity, that.  
But one can now question, with the Lich King – or Arthas at least – dead and gone, what’s now the gist of her rank? What does a Strike-Commander heed with a shortage of targets to strike?

Well, to be honest, the sole striking she gets up to in the present, is a hammer. Or rather, her subordinates juggle this – in the aftermath of the fall of the Scourge as they knew it, Darion was observant of that he needed to set her on an effort, and this is the cause for him putting her in charge of the restoration of the ruins of the Scarlet Enclave, the vein of living which the Lich King mined to strengthen and enhance his death knights of Acherus. All as a prelude to sacrifice them against Light’s Hope.

Needless to say, they don’t mean to reclaim the Enclave for the Scarlets – not that there is anyone with a mortal shell standing anyhow. It has been renamed the Ebon Enclave, which some may consider a tad bland, but they felt there was no point in reinventing the wheel. And with any luck, it’s meant to be their new-fashioned outpost. This won’t be restricted to their individual use either, for they premeditate to assemble the premises into their ‘meeting ground’ for receiving visitors besides, primarily mortals.

But by virtue of that travelling to and from Acherus asks of one to make aerial trips, there is a check for Trienza to hold a flight-committed vehicle or creature in her employ.  
Being that she’s still given pause at the outline of enslaving a creature to her will – no matter of that the Ebon Blade is suited to confer her with the undead description – she’s found herself pressed with the reality of making nice with another instance of a highly self-willed and ungovernable player. One that, as humiliating as it is to confess, is on par with Trienza herself. That Trienza would strike upon a kindred spirit in the foremost ancient of species wasn’t within her sight, but supposedly it’s senseless to gripe at this byproduct.

She divulges this entity up at one of the highest planes of Acherus, a cast of floor which has been refurbished into a nest for the widest and huskiest souls in the Ebon Blade, creatures that are marked by unshielded bones, serrated body parts, massive wings, claws, muzzles and horns, and last but not least, their talent for exhaling unfiltered fire.  
The moderate compilation of frost wyrms, once-dragons and drakes mainly from the blue dragonflight, are arrayed upon the floor, all circumscribing a set figure. However, this individual differs from them, derived of that she is not in a draconic physique, but an elven one; kaldorei is the race in question. To emulate her new allegiance, she has assimilated one of languished light green skin much like the death knights, her eyes flicking in white-blue, and the patches of skin in the expanse of the face drawn with blood red tattoos, the kaldorei custom of ‘the Serpent’. Her lengthy black hair is in a plaited ponytail, and protruding at the boundaries of her head are two dark grey dragon horns, sloped backwards, looming along her hair. This comes complete with blue-black saronite-esque gear, again comparable to the Ebon Knights.

This night elf-not-night elf is conversing with the frost wyrms participating in draconic and the different wyrms heed her, comparatively parallel to people with an older sibling.  
Staring at them politely for a number of seconds, Trienza then comes in and utters a name.  
“Lady Ryanegosa”, she says, providing the kaldorei with grace beyond what she commits to others.

Or instead she ought to think dragon, for this is Ryanegosa, prior of the blue dragonflight, daughter of Azuregos and Malemirgosa, who was in animation ten thousand years ago, in the War of the Ancients, the age of Trienza’s forebears. Untimely, she perished in the War of the Shifting Sands, while Trienza was practically a child, buried in Northrend. She did not rest deathlessly, though, as a consequence of the Scourge’s hunger for souls and slaves, they reanimated her into what she is now – a frost wyrm.  
Having been set free by Trienza and some of her comrades, Ryanegosa consentingly signed up with the Ebon Blade and these days, she’s somewhat of a ‘brood leader’ for the clutch of wyrms aligned with the knights.

Ryane shifts to the Commander and regards her. She subsequently tells her fellow wyrms a scatter of loving words in draconic, nudging her head against theirs and patting their bones. They appear to appreciate this manifestation and affection. Trienza reasons that she hearkens to what corresponds with purrs. Thereafter, they take wing and scramble to a separate location.

“Did I interrupt anything, my lady?”

Ryane shakes her head, eyes glimmering in chase of her departing brethren.  
“Not at all. They simply wished to go on a brief flight, scan our surroundings.”

“And your hand isn’t a must-have?”

The dragon snorts.  
“They’re not hatchlings; ergo, definitely not.”

“I see. A shame. I was wondering whether I should style you ‘broodmother’ by now.”

Ryane was approaching, but now stows this momentum, and the brow of the wyrm sinks menacingly.  
“…very funny, Commander”, she discharges with a bite of prickling. “Perhaps it would be justified for me to allude to that I’ve _devoured_ mortals with less impudence than yours.”

Trienza does crack the faintest of smiles.  
“I took that for granted, my lady.” With a better solemn cast, she prosecutes the debrief she’s in possession of. “Very well then, let me offer you the actuality of our situation – I’m after an assisting hand, or claw, from you. I need to travel to the Undercity for a strip of…drama that has cropped up between its walls. If you would be so kind as to provide this benefaction, I shall spare you whichever reward you put in.”

But the dragon twists her expression and coils her arms.  
“You invoke me to ride for a menial task as this? I am _not_ a passenger vessel. Grab one of your gryphons, in case that’s what you claim.”

“I know this…and regret my choice of words. It isn’t a regular chore to the capital, though, but rather a prison retrieval. Furthermore, your entrance is there for a freestanding motive – to wow the denizens of the Undercity. They host none of your kindred under its roof and none, regardless of mortal or undead, could resist the vision of a grand dragon.”

Ryane locks onto her and maintains an uncommunicative state for a fierce quantity of seconds.  
“…are you playing on my vanity?”

“Is it working?”

Inevitably, the dragon breaks and clasps her forehead.  
“Ugh. I hate you mortals and your bribes. Fine…I’ll serve as your splashy ride.”

“Excellent.  
Even so, first things first we are to swoop down to the Enclave and fetch Sydela and Lah’kur. It’s one thing to bring you there for the show, but another to enter the city alone. Three will suffice.”

“Whatever you bid, ‘commander’”, the dragon notes snidely.  
And with a snap of her fingers, the night elf that stood by the ground in front of her cycles, misshapes and grows, to humongous, fantastical proportions. A skeletal body past a hundred meters, banded together with four or five meters in height, the vestiges of dragon bones resonated with sky blue energy and shreds of flesh. The body of a substantiated frost wyrm.  
“Get up here then, elf, and let’s be about it”, her raspier tone expels.  
  


* * *

  
_It was a meager tally of weeks, yes, that Trienza was…beset once again with the name and lineaments of the bureaucrat which the Captain by that sequence had not presupposed what she would be shaped into. She was exiting her office, approaching the courtyard in the heart of the training grounds that she had rule over – The Southern Quel’Thalas Forward Command Center._

_The ranks of the Farstriders were greatly shorter than their neighbors to the south – Recruits and Privates were at the bottom, serving an approximate capacity, with the dissimilarity coming down to their training, and the fact that the ‘Ranger-‘ prefix was given once you’d entered the real Ranger corps. The prefix itself was to uncouple them from the Silvermoon Guard, despite that the Farstriders translated into the_ true _army of the quel’dorei._

_Corporals were the singular squad leaders, Sergeants served as platoon heads and then Lieutenants calling the shots for ‘companies’ – Farstriders rarely marched in such magnitudes and a Ranger company was no larger than a hundred. In times of war or combat scenarios, they were additionally supplemented by Arcanists, Magisters or priests schooled in the healing arts. One Magister by themselves could wreak some serious devastation in any condition._

_On top of this, at any given moment, a Lieutenant governed their minor outposts strewn across the forest, but Captains – or indeed ‘Ranger-Captains’ – wielded the highest positions in military headquarters, and as a rule, they were the chief echelon one ever spotted out on the field, around your typical day._   
_Beating the Captains were the so-called ‘Ranger Lords’, albeit it was in fact a gender-neutral term in thalassian – Anar’annalas, meaning with an imprecise translation ‘The wing above the crowns’. These were district overheads, with authority expanding to everything military which fell into a given demesne, even if they couldn’t really be spoken of as straightforward rule-givers – and there was only really four concurrent cases of these. Without considering that they on occasion plainly aligned with their brethren who manned their stations, the Ranger Lords foremost charge was to fare with the matters and concerns of Silvermoon. Being a Ranger Lord drew one into the political landscape of Quel’Thalas, mounted number of meetings, interplay with the Guard, the Navy, the nobility, the royals…a.k.a. a whole lot of paperwork. Trienza has slipped clear of a promotion more than once._   
_And conclusively, there is the Ranger-General, at once the blanket commander of the grand Farstrider army in addition to acting as liaison between the Captains in their bases and the Ranger Lords in Silvermoon._

_This is the cause for how one identifies Trienza generally inside the complex she’s in today as well. It’s quite an open facility in its midst, with grass fields, tracks and some target practices for firing arrows or applying bladework. Barracks are out on the eastern section, officer workrooms on the northwest, training complexes in the southwest, and more general-purpose rooms like dining halls settled in the north. The south is where one discovers the entrance, and the complete area is fenced in by five meter high walls, and four towers that are contemporaneously lookouts and magical aegises, which can blast arcane cannon fire or safeguard everything in a barrier._

_Trienza was bestowed this posting a couple of centuries prior and it was she who individually requisitioned the base’s security measures and insurance policy. If she was to rule under its shelter, she would make damn sure it was up to snuff._   
_It’s as such that her face and stature are recognized qualities of this stronghold and whenever she’s out wandering, people tend to…well, not wave at her, but salute. Trienza has been firm in crystallizing the embodiment of her according to the figure of brassbound power and a tight grip. It’s not about her wishing people to devolve into terror, but she’s a stout believer in hierarchy and respect to the military, so that when they enter battle, they’ll be well-versed in obeying orders. This is why she herself never shirks from the mandates of her own upper powers._   
_…mostly._

_Sadly, representing a well-known guise also means that upon the stretches where guests seek her, it’s impossible to not mark her path, for people nigh on carve it out for her._   
_This is a less than opportune fact with the duo which waltzes into the base on this day, which Trienza gleans straightway – right inside the enclosure is the detectable features of her mother and a defined senior assessor which Trienza thought she was rid of. How naïve she must’ve been, to take them for women who surrender precipitously…_

_“…mother?”_

_“Trienza!”, Anisra calls out._

_Trienza can’t determine the state of her spirits today. Sitting within the ranks of leadership which generally encompasses the concentrated federations of Quel’Thalas, her mother is not deficient in the feat of conspiration and occulting her emotions. In point of fact, a great degree of her exterior austerity is put on and impressed, for she would sooner her peers intuit her as an ungentle pillar of unbeatable will than a soft-hearted one. Trienza must cop to that she may have…inherited this hallmark._

_But irrespective of the matriarch’s state, it is the ruby-haired lady right behind her that rankles the Captain, who squeezes her hands and darkens her gaze._   
_“You brought her here?”_

_“Yes, and I wonder why! Could it be because you won’t move a muscle to respond to mails or the notices I transfer to you? We were impelled to be drastic.”_

_“…or you could’ve opted for the savvier road and forgotten all about this.”_

_“Oh no no no, you’re not dodging your way out of this one. It’s high time you desisted with this farce and get these talks of renovation off the ground.”_

_Trienza watches all while her mother and the fabulously charming committee spokesperson takes to her, the younger woman by this stage clothed in something better well-founded for travelling – tight-fitting blue trousers, bronze-colored jacket over a white shirt and a light green belt, high brown boots, and a thin black scarf alongside her neck. She’s pliable, Trienza can reconcile herself to that._   
_“I believe I brought my decision to the table on our previous run-in. Was it hard to follow?”_

_Anisra snorts._  
 _“It’s_ your _home, Trienza, so it’s_ your _obligation.”_

_“You’re more than free to fix it in a body. Doesn’t bother me, if so. As for myself, I have troops to get back to. You know, defending this nation of ours?”, she throws tartly._

_“Do not use that tone with me!”, her mother scolds. The three are by now almost hugging the interior of the court, anger simmering in their throats and a couple of figures are hurling glances, but not one iota of them are keen to interject, not with the Captain an acting participant._   
_“Why do you insist on foisting this upon others?”_

_“Foisting?_ I _didn’t ask for this!” She points at Anisra. “You brought it up!”_

 _“But it’s for_ your _benefit!”_

_“Hah! So suddenly my comforts and effects matter to you, do they?”_

_“Sweetie, I have done so all the way! You alone never listen.”_

_“Oh please! I always have to seize my own triumphs, even rising up in the Farstriders!”_

_“That is not an accurate account, and you know this! I proposed to put in a good word for you when you sought to get your lieutenant’s pin!”_

_“Don’t cut out parts of the story willy-nilly! It was purely further along, once you’d croaked for a sun-damned_ decade _that I didn’t take up your blasted legacy!”_

_An arrestment to this argument begins at an unplanned direction – Efaria._   
_“Please, lady Anisra, lady Trienza!”, she thwarts them with, nearing them and lifting her hands. She doesn’t carry her notepad today, albeit there is a bag enveloping her shoulder._

_Trienza has her discomfort towards the assessor strapped on, not informed where she stands._   
_“It’s-“_

_“Ah yes, evidently,_ Captain _Trienza! Sincerest apologies as before”. Departing her sight from the Magister, she’s plucked to Trienza, momentarily at most three meters apart, putting her hands together. Trienza can pick up the scent of mauvelight bloom again._  
 _“This doesn’t need to be an intricate case, Captain – I implore you only to concert with me for some scant measures. You’ll barely notice that we were there.”_

_So she says for the moment, but how much is she inclined to bet it’ll heighten immeasurably down the line? It’s a trick, Trienza tells herself. Thereafter, she sighs, folding her arms cynically._   
_“What exactly is it you need for this job?”_

_“A remodeling exponent and I are expected to review your household schematics and anything else document-wise you can throw into the pot, or append written references to alterations and adjustments completed on the house. She will inspect the present state of affairs of the respective chambers and quarters, take in the quality of the interior and exterior walls, run some measurements etc. In the meantime, I shall sort the cataloguing, organization and scheduling for revisions.”_

_Well then, that doesn’t sound like loads…_   
_…Is what a deluded person might say. In reality, it’s described as a hefty workload, and skipping out wouldn’t hack it._   
_“…I can lend you my key if you’re raring to look it over.”_

_“That won’t suffice. It’s still left to you to grant us answers that we might not distill from whatever papers you boast. Excluding that you have in-depth records of this, with accessory annual updates?”_

_Trienza’s eyebrows slump and she bends her head sideways._   
_“…no.”_

_“A logbook that you keep or an almanac?”_

_“…much less that.”_

_“A diary perhaps?”_

_Trienza grimaces at her, the manner of face which has coaxed many a recruit to jump out of their skin. To her credit, Efaria is undisturbed._   
_“…are you insulting me?”_

_Unbelievably, the administrator does the opposite of something sensical and smiles coyly._   
_“Merely seeking information, sweet Captain.”_

_“…sure you are. Regardless, I don’t scribble down every single little thing I get up to.”_

_“Well then, there’s nothing to it but broach the questions I’ve got. Take my word for it, this won’t be long.”_

_“Right. And I should believe you, because…?”_

_“Because I’m entirely devoted to my profession and the realization of this project, nothing else. I’ll take care of the grand sum of the ‘stodgy’ paperwork, the arrangements and each and every complexity. The one thing you’re conditioned to do is brush up on some stuff, sit there, have a drink or two if you fancy it, and…look pretty.”_

_This full statement is delivered leisurely and smoothly, akin to salesperson enlarging their product. But Trienza blinks and stares at the other elf, who smiles cheekily. Was that…? Is she…flirting with Trienza? Gah. This isn’t her field. She can’t descry these parts very well._   
_The Captain glowers at the other woman for more than a couple of seconds, struggling to induce her into budging, but she does not. This Efaria is phenomenally resilient to Trienza’s commanding stares._

_To her faint embarrassment, Trienza is then the one who must about-face, a glance bound for her mother._   
_“And why can’t you supervise this?”_

_The Magister sighs._  
 _“What a fancifully infantile question, dear. Hasn’t it gotten through to you so far that I have_ enough _to settle among the Magister Order? You debatably defend this nation, but_ I _assist with keeping it running.”_

_Hmm. Maybe she’s not far off from a trace of factuality…_   
_“But…perhaps father could-“_

_“Your father is waist-deep in his own toils at the academy and isn’t crying out for you to pile more onto him. You have to take responsibility in this, Trienza.”_

_A line that drives a smug mask upon Efaria, and the Captain senses her eyebrow twitching, being lined with fresh debasement. But she does not blush – she’s no schoolgirl by any stretch._   
_“Mother, please. You…you’re aware what bureaucracy does to me”, she lowers herself to admit, in a more even-tempered voice. “That’s what I entrust to you.”_

_However, Anisra is not enticed, nor is she gleeful at that characterization._   
_“Watch yourself, young lady. I’m not your attaché”, she snaps._

_“Nor did I claim you were. And would you be so kind as to not refer to me as young? Haven’t been in centuries.”_

_“Hah! Then chances are that you ought to start_ acting _like you were! I’ll consider your plea thenceforth.”_

_Trienza shakes her head pessimistically. She actively doesn’t have a measure of draw for this classification of activity, but what is she to do mid-persuasion attempt? These two are unassailably confident of their stance._   
_As such, she decides to postpone it._   
_“Why don’t I…ponder it? Give me a scatter of days and I shall…arrive at a consensus.”_

_“Sounds splendid to me”, Efaria relays._

_“Fine. Then if you’ll excuse me…”_

_The Captain shrinks away, charging herself for an exit strategy, but this hitch isn’t fully surpassed._   
_“Wait!” The fetching assessor digs her hand into her pocket and fishes out a piece of folded up paper, and pins it into Trienza’s fingers. “Once you’ve made up your mind, address a letter or arcane dispatch to this venue.”_

_Trienza gloms it and gets red flags if she’s on the right track._   
_“…if I must.”_

_She dips her head and then rounds Efaria. The redhead smirks after her, and in her peripheral vision, Trienza spies how she’s absolutely being checked out._   
_“Don’t keep me waiting”, she utters through a magnetic cadence._

_Trienza bridges the gap between their two visions, but she has no response. What’s Efaria’s game?_   
  


* * *

  
She has sincerely doubled down on this peculiar and overbearing dreamscape, for she’s now at it again a second time with the falling into it and being contingent on others to arouse her. In this interim, it is Ryanegosa who rattles her raggedy shape to get the elf at her spine to open the eyes.  
“Hey, zharul!”, she crows. It’s a draconic word, and from the dragon’s avouchment, it converts roughly into ‘partner’, in the workspace accomplice regard. It’s a predisposition which she’s lifted off pretty newly. “Were you listening?”

Recovering her faculties, Trienza grips one of the dorsal spikes of her acquaintance and nods briskly.  
“I…yes.” She jerks her head and rubs her forehead. “…no. I…I must’ve dozed off.”

A remote flare of concern filters by Ryane’s fiery visuals.  
“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Affirmative. It was nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Hmm”, trickles by Ryane’s maw.

With Trienza borne on her at a severe pace, they gravitate in unison into an area that is now relative to a husk of a settlement, with sporadic protrusions of motion. This splintered bustle is derived from members of the Ebon Blade, strictly those serving under Trienza herself – and not restricted to death knights, but ghouls, banshees, abominations, undead elves, draenei, trolls, tauren and all the rest. Free undead native to the Scourge, who were in pursuit of aligning with the Ebon Blade as opposed to the forsaken. And unburdened of the Lich King, they serve in equilibrium.

This is the Ebon Enclave, formerly the Scarlet Enclave, and in months gone by – at a push, a fraction of weeks ahead of the most recent contention – Darion and the upper officers of the organization made the call that their ongoing state of being necessitates an elongation of their jurisdiction and places of habitation. If they plan to confer with the living, they should incorporate a region where they’re accessible from. And with the Scarlets’ nonexistence, and the living uninterested in these grounds, they laid claim to them, and put Trienza in charge of its restoration.  
The surroundings themselves include buildings either wooden or stone, crafted into a Lordaeronian anatomy, allowing that it’s at irregular intervals tagged with decrepit crests of the Scarlet Crusade. Saying that, the flags are being replaced with blue-black banners of the Ebon Blade.

Coming to roost by the fringes of the Enclave, Trienza bounces off, is hailed with salutes produced by her underlings, and sweeps her hand at them.  
“At ease.”

One of those featured in this bunch is a dark brown-tinted human, with thin wavy textured black hair and a full beard of faded black. But much as one would wish to advertise that it infuses his entire face, this is false, for a good chunk of the southern end – in particular the neck – is scar-ridden of the burning variety. He tended to wear his helmet nearly every day preceding their warpath from one side to the other of Northrend, but in rapid succession of his encounter with a specific Argent Crusade priest, his life choices have altered. And to the high elf, her second-in-command Wilthorn Siddall is first and last a pleasant demeanor.

“Siddall, status report.”

The human bobbles his head and takes his place at her sideline.  
“Yes, Commander.”  
They breeze into the town by way of the hill road to its northern exit and Trienza reviews the landscape – close to 50% of the buildings have been brought back to a fitting shape.  
“As you can see, we’ve completed the reconstruction of the castle today, with a couple of final touches on the portcullis and hammering down the stone railing next to the entryway. The main roadblock we’re struggling with – besides being yet deprived of some of the most critical establishments – is the interior design of these houses and residences. Not only are we down people with such baseline skills as carpentry and painting, there aren’t much material for us to operate neither. Thanks to the Plaguelands’…uh, terrible state, we can’t chop down trees, we can’t cultivate anything, and there’s slim pickings for tradeable resources. We could tweak a couple of ‘em with minor applications, but a hefty proportion of these simply requires to be rebuilt from the ground up. And the stained glass on the church won’t get us anywhere. Like I said, no supplies, and we got a glassblower – an old dark iron dwarf-”

“Thengren?”

“Yeah, her, but undeath left her half-blind. She wagers it’s not impossible for her to recreate it, but it’s riding on that she can attain an assistant, preferably one with some glassblowing discipline. To tell you the truth, I seriously can’t picture how we’re gonna achieve this alone.”

And he’s not off the mark, for if they are to host guests at some point in the near future, this hub has a bar set to be in tiptop condition. A tall order, one should believe.  
In despite of their swelling curses in their actions, Trienza is not one to be inhibited and she nods.  
“I understand. Fortunately, I’m off on a trip today, which might procure us expressly what we have in shortage.”

Wilthorn is at once stimulated and befuddled by her insinuation.  
“Oh? Heading out on a vacation, Commander?”, he quips lightly.

“Not quite. Where is Sydela and Lah’kur?”

Leading her to a chapter of the terrain in the northwest, where preserved undead, ghouls, gargoyles, skeletons and geists are assembling an edifice, which shines through of emerging as a tower, they catch sight of two figures overseeing the undertaking. The soul on the left is the better conserved of the duo – a dominating troll of Amani-make imbued with moss-green skin and wilted moss along it, locked to substantial blue hair in a ponytail hooked up high by a brass ring. Her ears are pierced, and her decently lavish ivory and slightly yellow tusks with rings compassing them.  
To her right is a barely shorter but burlier wilted grey orchid-purple-hued kaldorei, topped by a tinier style of purple-pink hair. The pair are blessed with a runeblade and saronite armor apiece.

Upon advance, Trienza spots as the Amani roars in laughter and presses her elbow into the kaldorei’s arm, who shakes her head discontently, wont to have told some ill-timed joke. Same old, same old.  
“Lah’kur, Sydela. To me.”

The duo reacts with both hands and strides up to her, saluting with fists to their chest plates. Her precious-…  
Ah, yes, by this stage, they _are_ her precious aides. She can’t imagine a duty done without them at her stern.  
“Commander!”, Sydela brings her in an edged sense.

Lah’kur is cooler, leaving a curt nod.  
“Yo, boss. Meeting turnin’ out a’right?”

She’s referencing the convention of the Congress of the Ebon Blade, the ‘government’ of the Order, founded shortly after their independence, where Trienza is a member.  
“Satisfactory enough, I’d say. It was a nudge long-winded.”

“Hehe. Aren’t they ever? We getting anything for the Enclave?”

“Yes, and no.”

“No?”, wonders Sydela in bewilderment. “Why would they turn us down?”

“They haven’t, but we’re instructed to make the arrangements ourselves. On the bright side, Quartermaster Ozorg has advised me that he’s conveyed a message to his contracts. We’ve also been bestowed a mission from the Highlord. We’re to delve to the Undercity.”

Lah’kur levels a hand adjoining her hip and smirks.  
“Really now? Just the three of us?”

“Four. Ryane is taking us.”

“Well, it’d do ya much good not to feel lonely when Syd’jal wanna get some cuddle time with me.”

She stretches her hand to sprightly, and fruitlessly, tickle the kaldorei. Sydela twists and rolls her eyes.  
“…your mind needs to stop.”

With the two lovers mucking around, Trienza keeps her sight on Wilthorn.  
“I expect you to keep close and serviceable custody of things in my absence.”

The human bows revently.  
“You can count on me, Commander. Haven’t failed you so far.”

Trienza flashes the tiniest of smiles, a mere crook of her lips, before bonking his chest plate mildly.  
“Nor will you.”


	3. The fall

The comprehension of time in the extremities of the residuum of Lordaeron is a quality which can get over the head of the average mind to decipher, on account of the spoilage which has seeped into the terrain. The necromantic energies has creeped into the soil, and the gases and oozing steam from them has floated up to the surface of the skies, solidifying an eerie night or elsewise a darkness that sticks for longer than what in contrasting spaces and nations would be deemed routine. It’s as if not merely the people have been sundered and reanimated into undeath, but the flat-out land. The sun does erratically poke through and puncture the penumbra of this mist, but it doesn’t quite have the eye for being locked in place.

This is not an empirical caveat which gets the giant flight-borne shape of Ryanegosa to any unique heights of alarm, to be clear, as she reads her passage through the air more with the aid of the currents of wind or the preternatural gleam of the magical leylines in Azeroth. She may have passed on and been severely modified in the midst of her resurrection, but this does not bode that she has somehow grown destitute of her formidability to drag the particles of the enchanted plane into heart. She is nothing but a husk of a blue dragon, but the emphasis is upon _blue dragon_.

And the trio on her back trusts her on all levels, which is why Trienza only loosely keeps her vision and thoughts upon the road ahead, for she imagines Ryane will field them to the finish line. For the present, the frost wyrm is directed by a low-altitude flight atop the trees, projecting that this will not attract an excessive degree of attention. There is stirring and baying here and there – Trienza even reasons that she picks up a howl in the night somewhere – but Ryane ought to know what she’s doing. That said, this too is challenging to determine the success of.

This vector to the uppermost human capital is a trail that Trienza has followed before, during the instances where she was to escort some diplomat or luminary to the city’s confines, or alternatively cover a caravan or trade succession in the earliest stages of her career. That strikes her as a lifetime past now, which one can daresay is a given when looking towards that she hasn’t been issued into such lightweight errands in probably half a dozen centuries. In her book, she inarguably doesn’t miss them, but mathematically speaking, couldn’t she have provided increased insight and services to the General during the invasion, should she have-

…no. Don’t make a mockery of yourself, Trienza. The invasion was predestined, a train of apocalypse which could not be halted by any means, by no mortal grasps or might. Updated investigations wouldn’t have been of great moment.  
These pictures and delvings into the past, though, means that she can’t elude the cloud of old evocations that now sweeps across her, enveloping her in the consoling embrace of a certain redhead…  
  


* * *

  
_Granting that Trienza had half sworn she would supply the overture of tackling the house’s documentation with Efaria an ounce of inspection, the fact of the matter is that she put the topic in its entirety to one side and throughout the process of the earlier week or two, she’s been stalling. Not for a second has she worried herself to get a transmission to the assessor._

_The last thing Trienza would legitimately do is eschew a meaningful duty, but each beat that she weighs the event in her consciousness, the sole result formed is a prodigious sigh and a mightily taxed puff of emotions. In their duo of previous abbreviated encounters, Efaria has been estimated as a charming and sweet soul, a woman for whom swaying others come easily. But to Trienza, this comes off as an outer rank of professional courtesy. Checks out too, for stirring clients to feel better and calmer. However, she’s not one to budge to flattery._

_Trienza’s villa Is situated just about half an hour’s journey in the eastern bearing of the command center, under the southeastern strip of Quel’Thalas, but a paltry stockpile of miles north of the Thalassian Pass, the great gateway which seals their nation off from their human neighbors. No one could go so far as to flag it as a grand estate. It’s a foundation carved with stone and enchantments, the walls tinctured in white and threaded with red and black swirly ornaments. The rooftop is not a slope nor flat, but a dome capped by a bulbous spiral, with a screeching dragonhawk head at its crest._

_Trienza learned in her youth that along the days of their long-distant kaldorei antiquity, her family trumpeted the logos of the hippogryph at their chests in the clan sigil sense, but come the Sundering and vanishing to this continent, by aspirations to feed their esteem as a now-quel’dorei lineage, they swapped it out. Nothing more than a quirky oddity now, for these days, the Sah’nirs don’t hold themselves faithful to so much as a solitary mark besides that of Quel’Thalas. Family is paramount, but doesn’t supplant the nation and its people._   
_As little prominence as it possesses to her, Trienza hasn’t tracked the sense in shaving the dragonhawk tip to this day, for it does profit her by representing a stylistic and exceptionally-crafted presence. She has never been a woman who covets the dusty years of old eras, but she gladly favors some sense of artistic knowhow._

_Not counting the house, the interior area is circumscribed down three sides by processions of common bushes to match, an unoccupied foreground yard, a minor guesthouse upon the western border and a garden in the back. Trienza has a vested interest in prolonging the front as a free space for meandering, in those circumstances that she might feel up to practicing or working out beyond the walls but not away from the house, to stay unseen. By merit of the three meter elevation of the fences that skirt the unsevered lair, she can achieve such a desire. To no one’s wonderment, it was Trienza who fixed this accompaniment._

_In the ordinary way, the house and the garden has entities set to work, but not herself and never servants – cognate to a fair share of quel’dorei establishments, she has integrated arcane constructs to accommodate these efforts. Two enchanted brooms for the house and an artificial elemental nursing the garden and other errands._   
_No matter that she populates this facility all by her lonesome, the aura influencing Trienza upon reversing to it every day is one that sifts solace and stillness into her soul. She physiologically dials back and unscrews every pore, whilst the ambience of what she indulges like a terminal of sanctum embraces her, near to forged into a piece of her own sentience. She does have a lot of time for the command center and her office, but her home is unique in that she can be no one but herself. Or in some measure, she’s been diligent regarding reconfiguring these yards to such a value._

_But even your hives of security can be compromised._   
_With a series of hours having elapsed as she maneuvered recruits in the act of target practice and sprinting exercises, and thereafter promenading back home, the reminder of what precisely she’s postponed is fast approaching._   
_“Ah, so there you are, finally. It was starting to cross my mind that you never actually step inside these walls.”_

_Retracting automatically, Trienza firstly distrusts if this address was obtained behind the dense outer gate of the estate, but no, that’s an explicit no-go. It’s barred and omitting that they vaulted overhead, it’d be logically impossible._   
_By extension, she surveys the external stretch of the barrier and is abruptly made aware of her quarry to the left end of it, where a concrete crown overtopped by a ruby river converges on her._   
_“…miss Mavily.”_

_The presentation she manifests today is one of a sly smile, hitching her bag onto her shoulder._   
_“You sound a tad glum, Captain. Told you not to keep me waiting, didn’t I?”_

_As ever, Efaria is a reflection that plenty of individuals would hail as transcending in loveliness. Her lengthy hair is half resting on her left shoulder, but on the right topmost edge, it is bound into a braid which runs into a coil around the head for a slight length. A dark blue pea coat is spread across her torso, which is unbuttoned halfway, sporting a white blouse underneath, itself minutely deep-cut to unveil the vertex of her cleavage. Her legs are strapped into passably slack rose red leggings, her feet in black boots, yet behind them, spilling from the waist is a cape or half-skirt after a fashion, which obscures merely the backside of her lower body. Trienza internally wonders if Efaria glowed herself up in anticipation to merge with the Captain today, or whether this is a conventional getup._

_“Not…glum”, she points out, which is in fact infused with precision, notwithstanding the fact that Efaria does touch a marginally relevant chord. “I simply hadn’t…foreseen that you’d surface here. Outside my home.”_

_The punctuation is laid at the latter statement. When all is said and done, this_ is _her lodgings, her private bastion, and she rarely if ever admits anyone inside._  
 _But Efaria either doesn’t take the hint or deflects it._  
 _“That’s no secret, but your home was the very location we’ve been parleying on in our previous collisions, no? Seemed logical to me that I make squarely for the source, in place of standing by for you to pick me up. One thing you’d best learn of me is that I’m a girl who opts for immediate action, you see.”_

_The Captain does nothing to hide that she deflates tenuously, her shoulders swagging and the bag on one which she carries to work appears to gain weight._   
_“And this…inspection of yours, it has some sort of sell-by date? It can’t be remitted? I’m not feeling my utter best at the end of a long day at work.”_

_“Oh, this won’t be time-consuming, fair Captain. And I’ll do all I can not to shove further burdens above your shoulders.”_

_She’s not so much as_ attempting _to pose this as an offer. The die was cast long before._  
 _“And if my answer would be to turn you down this instant?”_

 _“Well…hypothetically, nothing is_ pressuring _you to comply with my request, but it is due time at this rate, for in my organization we are obligated to review the facilities we’re assigned on a periodic time frame. And let’s not forget you did not so much as acknowledge our latest three letters.”_

_“Fair play. Guess my mother won’t be talked into this, no matter what I run with…”_

_“Whether she can or can’t is beside the point anyhow, as this can’t be levied towards her. This is_ your _estate, Captain, and I need_ your _explicit permission to reap the sanctions in order to conduct my evaluation. I realize you mean to slow this indefinitely if given half a chance, but I popped over here today owing to that we can’t move this to another date. I’ve pulled my finger out to garner your consent, but it’s come up short, time and time again.”_

_“Were I to allude to that I can’t spare hours for frivolous documentation, this wouldn’t stand a chance to sway you into laying down, would it?”_

_The pretty assessor hangs an eyebrow doubtfully and shrugs unenthusedly._  
 _“I can assure you this is no superficial matter – estates degrade over time and they have specifications to be adequately inspected for them to be preserved. You aren’t uninitiated in the ways of the world, I expect? Our magics operate in like manner and carries pronounced disadvantages.”_  
 _By all rights, she isn’t off. Discounting that the house is enchanted, these transcendent apparatuses are equipped with a condition to be renewed every few centuries. However, the base foundation of them has not been redacted in much longer, and on principle only bolstered what is already in place. And though this is an exertion which can be repeated at dozens of intervals, after a while, everything fades._  
 _“I_ could _fill in by taking a moment to rely on your mother’s line surrounding ‘responsibility’…”_

 _It doesn’t escape her that Trienza’s outside low-level starts steaming, furrowing her brow with a whiff of irritation._  
 _“…do_ not _fall back on her platitudes with me, or so help me Eternal Sun…”_

 _Shining up once again, Efaria gives off a fluttering giggle, bouncing her hair charmingly and tilts her head to the side in a fairly cutesy framing. Trienza is given to understand that this melts other people’s hearts wholesale, but her judgments differ. She_ can _appreciate the aesthetic, however. Trienza is not grabbed nice and easy by urges of that style, for she doesn’t have them, but one can prize the effort to portray a fine painting without standing as an art aficionado._  
 _“Adoring Captain, I would be fiercely remiss should I ever execute such a deficient tact. Especially on someone of such a refined attitude as yourself.”_

_Sure she wouldn’t…_   
_But had Trienza cornered her, there’s no doubt that Efaria would slap that line right in her face._   
_“Bah…I suppose in this case where time is short…I could produce a couple of hours for you.”_

_“Splendid.”_   
_To the Captain’s bewilderment, Efaria attaches either arm against Trienza’s nearest, slides around it, levelling her ample hips and side pressed at the ranger. Does she…process at all that the Captain is reasonably coated in sweat below her own clothes? She hasn’t had the chance to take a bath, which she does at home._   
_“Then kindly direct us inside.”_

_Finding herself being a mite self-conscious, Trienza takes a brief peek in the vicinity of the neighborhood. Should anyone witness her now…_   
_When it’s done and dusted, she bursts air from her nose, fetches her key from a pocket and, lacking the incivility to push the assessor away, unlocks the gate with one hand._

_They make their entrance into the so-called ‘courtyard’ of the habitat, even with the essence of that this isn’t quite a fancy mansion, nor has it adopted the expansive grounds which such levels attest. A road of smooth stone ushers them up the trail to the doorway, but the larger part from this scene is loaded with decently chopped grass, supplementary to the bushes which rim the interior of the walls._

_On the juncture that they stroll inside, a presence glinting in plenary sky blue approaches, a variety of blob with hanging arm and two diamond-affiliated orbs working as eyes. The elemental’s speech is strikingly ginger and mellow._   
_“Welcome home, master Trienza”, it states with a mild case of a mechanical sense. “Arriving guest has been registered. May I facilitate your ease somehow?”_

_Trienza pauses fugaciously, determining the inquiry from within and thereupon brushes her neck. Efaria on the other hand levels a rapt face at her._   
_“Master?”_

_Trienza blows out air with some fatigue._   
_“My mother is to answer for that. She put the constructs together and all that.”_

_“Heh. Mommy does the whole deal for you, does she?”, Efaria plays._

_“…don’t patronize me.”_   
_Leaving Efaria’s mouth is a cherishable giggle._   
_The Captain coasts her fingers with the available hand into her remotely sticky hair, inundated in the labors of the day._   
_“Ugh, what a mess. Set about boiling some water. I would take a bath later.”_

_“Very good, master.” It then sheers and is off._

_Efaria in the meantime transmits an intrigued visage at her host._   
_“Oh my. Is that an invitation, Captain?”_

_Trienza grumbles inwardly._  
 _“…it is_ not _. I’m attending to it with you gone.”_

 _“Aww. And here I was treating it as though this’d get spicier.”_  
 _Okay,_ that’s it. _It’s been spelled out now, that this woman is unconditionally baiting her._  
 _With this in the can, Efaria keeps stride with Trienza until they’re standing ahead of the house and she attains the moment to case the establishment._  
 _“I’ve read the file, but it’s still somewhat blindsiding to believe that yours isn’t half a castle. As in, there’s exclusively two stories and not a tower. Though I did spot that nifty uncluttered balcony on the upper floor.”_

_“So you have it. This was minded for a humbler count of family, and the initial denizens surprisingly weren’t mages.”_

_“More than just mages have a leaning towards towers, though.”_

_“Not to the degree you’re predicting. Keep in that mind that we’re stuck not teleporting up and down the same way as them.”_

_“Ah, can’t argue with that, no.”_

_Here, Trienza construes that she hasn’t canvassed Efaria in sync with the functionary’s own research. She guides her aim at Efaria, watching how she’s slipping her trained eye about the spread of the house, potentially unriddling a layout early on._   
_“Are either of your parents mages?”_

_Curbing her process, Efaria drifts into Trienza and smiles politely._   
_“Nope. One was well along, but he wasn’t taken with the Magisters’ mores. Or the…spell training for that matter, hah._   
_Oh, and I have three.”_

_“Three?”_

_“Three parents. One mother and two fathers. One of the latter is shalu’fiel.”_

_A thalassian word that is a kicker to translate straight, but approximately goes ‘a heart that has transitioned’. In Common, they usually stick with a person who’s swapped gender. She’s heard tell that this is more commonplace in Quel’Thalas than separate lands of the Eastern Kingdoms, though._   
_“Ah. I see.”_

_It isn’t altogether uncommon or so, for families made up of multiple partners exist in all corners of their nation, but this is rather pruned in the higher castes._   
_But promptly, Efaria diverts the subject on hand._   
_“What’s the age of the house?”_

_She puzzles the answer for a second._   
_“I was filled in on that it’s some 5000 years.”_

_“My my, a storied building, to be sure. If anything, a lair at such a distance from the capital seldom sticks around.”_

_“My ancestors who commissioned its production were rumored to not have a liking for the capital. It was built and ensorcelled to last, but besides keeping it around, it didn’t receive any extraordinary care when the final of them toddled off a generation or two later. I believe no one had chambered in it for…several hundred years until I seized it.”_

_“Hmmm”, Efaria drawls with some engrossment. “But nevertheless, it’s an exceptionally enduring facility to have held on this site for such an extent. Strong and sturdy.” She glances tantalizingly at Trienza. “Like its owner.”_

_Trienza reads this message clearly and convenes with her eyes, peeking head-on into the dark blues of the assessor, reexploring the real incentive for this design. What is the truth of the matter that she’s spoiling for?_   
_Trienza turns her head left to right._   
_“Is it correspondingly protocol to come onto your clients, mass Mavily?”_

_Efaria titters in a coy manner, three fingers above her lips._   
_“Principally those I click with.”_

_“And how was I suitably ‘lucky’ to incur this dynamic status?”_

_“One thing at a time, my sweaty Captain. Come”, she softly pats Trienza’s shoulder, “show me to your archives and let’s view what you’ve got stored.”_   
  


* * *

  
“Hey, ya caught any of that, boss?”

Those are the words which wrest Trienza from her trance in this phase, and she jerks only faintly, being halfway to dropping her clasp on the wyrm’s spinal prongs. The roisterous wind whips into her practically torpid undead face, and the blue fire of her gaze runs over this climate. Ah yes, she’s relapsed into…this plane of existence. The grim periphery of what she’s become.

She peers past her shoulder, noticing Lah’kur by her seat plumb to the south of the Commander and Sydela next in line. The two of them behold her aided by naked disheartened impulses.  
“What? Apologies, my attention was…divided.”

“With what?”

“Nothing…substantial. Thinking, mainly. Possibly a lapse of daydreaming.” She adjoins the final section in a fast, nearly mumbled capacity.

But one who isn’t fooled is Ryane, who erects her head and points her stare at them.  
“It struck again?”

The two aides blink in a startle.  
“Stop there – you’re saying this wasn’t the first time?”, queries Sydela.

“Mm”, Trienza spills, albeit vaguely. As if she’s trying to pass them by.

“Yes, in the midst of our flight down to the Enclave”, Ryane details.

“It’s nothing. Discount it for now.”  
But the dragon hurls a mindful glance at the aides, which they show in kind. But no one counterbalances the Commander flat, for she…well, she is the Commander. If she’s saying she is fine, then it’s best for them to swear by it, despite that neither can espouse that this is a fair sign.

The cruise proceeding to the Undercity is uneventful for an extended half an hour or so, and in this process, Trienza engages in conversation to relieve her adjuncts of some nerves.  
But it’s at the mists of this tranquility and carefree temperature that tragedy at last strikes, native from a field not on their radar, a territory none had calculated. Where they’re gliding at the present is approaching the edge of the woods within central Lordaeron, but teetering on the Western Plaguelands, nearing the Capital. It used to be quite thickly populated, but all the wishes in the world couldn’t prevent that a predominant portion of the trees have been rent asunder due to the smirch of undeath.

The befouled nature of it all is not an interference for the Ebon Blade quartet to get their heads around, owing to that their own baked-in festering is of equal scale. But the status of this airspace as a safe zone is left contested, for menacing looks from another faction are navigated towards them.  
From down in the forest, a platoon of living subjects stares up at the whopping behemoth which comes winging up above. The mass of people in any district of Azeroth would fudge the concept of confronting a dragon point-blank, and scarcely would they dare tackle a frost wyrm, famed for their frenetic phases. But with extremists, this is not a hugely harrowing matter, but an open door.

A searing spear of Light energy is launched, catching them off base, and Ryane is given an outlet to roar as it barrels into her side, even if the shout is reinforced by shock as opposed to agony. The riders rock in their seats in their own right, clutching the dorsal protrusions tooth and nail. And on that note, Trienza’s hold is a hair’s breadth from getting mislaid, being that the grogginess has grown lodged in her faculties. She grits her teeth and goes at it to not bow down to gravity.

“What in all the hells?!”, shouts the wyrm. “Who _dares_?!”, externally insulted above anything else.

Lah’kur boosts herself before they know it, one hand around a spike and grubs the locale. She, in the same manner as Trienza, has a history with this denomination of terrain.  
“There! I got eyes on ‘em. Looks like uh…shit. Red-clad bastards. Is that…are they Scarlets?!”

Sydela keeps on her partner’s immersion and glares at the forest.  
“Where in Elune’s-…weren’t they dead and gone?”

“Those in the east, anyway.”

A duo of supervenient blasts are opened, but Ryane contracts the flame of her gaze.  
“Oh no, you don’t. Hang on!”

Thereafter, she lunges herself onwards, and dives to not get thrashed. Although Lah’kur hadn’t strapped herself in for this, Sydela reaches for her and grabs one leg, which partially steadies the troll in order for her to fetch her assigned outgrowth.  
But one who isn’t as providential is Trienza, with her head unrecovered from her predating condition, With the violent trembling and shifts, it’s past time for this fragility to grind her down, and she forfeits her handhold.

In her weakened state, the high elf tumbles off, presumably a hundred meters over the earth and pulses down in between a contingent of heightened trees. The trio spots it with horror in their hearts. The two aides shout, _“Commander!”_

And the dragon adds, _“Zharul!”_

The trek downwards is not clement nor amenable, with Trienza buffeting into the length of a whole two trees. This is an exercise which decelerates the descent, a work of the branches that heads her off, but upon pummeling down against the grit, undeterred by her undead condition, the damage doesn’t bend the laws of physics for her. It hurts her, badly, regardless of her not sensing it.  
Reposed there in contact with the unsound and defiled dirt, her lungs erupt, and she coughs uncontrollably, a response that was patterned by the Scourge.

She puts her mind to scrutinizing what encompasses her at this moment, but her head is reeling with one helluva temper and she experiences instability. Was she not struck undead, she would be inclined to define the rupture to her physique…or if her bones are busted. As it is, she draws a blank, except that she doesn’t feel very good.

But despite barreling away the first rounds, the Scarlets aren’t the company who henceforth encroaches at the prey that she’s been made. She gets a load of incoming rumbling, and she bears her blues, receiving an image of the irradiated gazes of beasts – undead ones, and in all probability, ex-Scourge.  
Bending her hand towards her tail end, she at the same time struggles to rise, but her right arm shivers, sparsely serviceable to persist in holding her upright.  
What’s worse, putting her fingers to the site that her hilt conventionally pokes up, her fingers end up emptyhanded. The sword is gone. Curse it all. Did she lose it in the drop? Her necromantic gifts remain live, but she can hardly see two meters ahead of her stance, and every inch of her biology is throbbing, shrieking for her to cut it out. How is she meant to dispute enemies with this handicap? She’ll have to get around it…someway.

But with Trienza on the absolute verge of losing awareness, another entity charges out of the faded sections of the forest. Trienza detects a baleful growl from this form as well, but its size comes out of ahead, full prior to hammering into two of the bizarre hound-like creatures which Trienza can discern, breaching one’s gut with humongous claws. Gaining the first victory, it howls in exultation. Or possibly bloodthirst, Trienza is unfamiliar with the vocal signs of beasts. That was Rivaryn’s domain.

Trienza makes one last effort to retrieve a prognosis for this fresh identity, whether it is friend or foe, but she’s too late – before making sense of it, her vision goes dark and the feel which concludes her consciousness is her head hitting the ground.


	4. Guardian branch

The strangest facet of waking up for Trienza isn’t the fact that she detects some suffering in her veins and bones – granted that this too is out of the ordinary – but more so that she is expected to _wake up_ in the first place. This physique she’s harnessed from the Lich King doesn’t possess a charge to sleep, and thinking on it, sleeping in and of itself is a trying subject, for it leaves death knights vulnerable. And vulnerability is unacceptable. Not to exterior risks, but inner ones. The ones you find in your mind.

Well, that was previously the dilemma at any rate, when Arthas would invade their cerebral fields, as his enslaving energies could slink into the gap of the loosened guard to squeeze the throat of their critical thinking and press it until they gave in. It’s been no more than a few months, so she hasn’t readjusted to a life free of his imperious and deceptive gaze.

Accordingly, Trienza spews out a groan and with her icy sight unlodging, she measures that she’s upon the floor of the area as well. Well yeah, where else would she have dropped? It’s not like diving from a hundred meters would-  
“…wha’? Oh! Y…you’re up? That wasn’t-…oh dear. This is-…it was hard to notice, what with your…”  
Trienza can’t tell if she’s imagining things, but isn’t she reading the voice of another person?  
Exerting some stamina to sit up, she takes a look around. Intriguingly, not merely is she no more within the site where she fell, but she’s simultaneously sat on what passes for a manner of blanket. And are those pillows behind her?  
“Hey, easy does it! Don’t move so quickly. You took an overlong fall back there. It’s a smidgen of a miracle that you aren’t too far gone. Or uh…dead again.”

Trienza blinks vivaciously, and angles to refocus her eyes. Thankfully, unlike sequent to the comedown, she can make it work here. Immediately alongside her, she sees a person. As the seconds go on, she guesses that she can conjecture it’s a woman, a human. A living human, in Tirisfal? Now that’s a twist.  
Trienza regards her, the light brown skin, the wavy black hair that’s locked at barely shoulder-length. She shows every sign of being quite sweet somehow, with full lips, moderately round nose, and absorbing hazel eyes. Lapping her form, Trienza determines clothes of a warmer feather, a wide-reaching grey coat with a minute fur or fur-like material, firm gloves, dense boots and stout blue leggings. These are slid across a form that is somewhat thicker and curvier than her own, allowing that she doesn’t flash the same breadth of categorical muscle as the elf.

During Trienza’s honed stare at her, the human unexpectedly makes it appear that she’s sent into a self-consciousness, coughing awkwardly, sight darting away and hands rubbing her neck in a demure fashion.  
Trienza groans. What’s with this strain? It never hurts on a normal day.  
“I…” Her voice is croaky, disillusioned somehow. “…who are you? What are you doing in Tirisfal? And…how did you pick me up?”

“Huh? Eh, I…I was uh…y’know, in the neighborhood.” She chuckles with indecision. “I was sorting some uh…business here and then witnessed your fall from that mighty dragon. Came to help as the beasts advanced. But…well, what’d you know, eh? Seems you were in luck somehow, as they were chased away. Mm. So, I…I managed to snap you up and make off with you before they caught wise.”

“In the neighborhood?” Trienza questions pointedly. “Who are you? What’s your intent in this land?” Her voice is mildly sterner than she had aimed. It’s not exactly conscious, merely her inherent intonation.

The lady does twitch a tad, however, running a hand into her hair.  
“It’s-…I…I’m Livia. As stated, got some business in Tirisfal. I’m not with the Alliance or anything, so the forsaken wouldn’t arrest me…erm, I think.”

She thinks. Trienza blows air from her nose, a morass overtaking her mind. She erects one of her hands, taking in its pale form. So, her gauntlet was detached. But she has no constraints to be concerned, for she can glean the pieces of her armor off to the side of her. At the moment, she only keeps the shirt and pants which are naturally below her armor.  
“Where are we? This isn’t where I dipped off.”

“Well, it wasn’t right safe out there surrounded by beast nests and those Scarlety buggers hounding everyone, you in particular, so I brought you away to a more sheltered area. We’re not too distant from the road, mind you. Posted up a camp for us to sit in, where we can’t be spotted from a mile away. Wanted to have you for myself, since you passed out.” It does require a second or two, but then she catches herself, and ostensibly blushes.  
“N-not in a weird way! Just…uh…I was simply…troubled! Yes! That’s…that’s it…” She lets out an unassuming giggle and then coughs. This lady, she’s a flaky one.

Trienza however, takes a moment to size her up, assess her.  
“You lugged me here?”

Livia clears her throat and remedies her position.  
“Yeah?”

“By yourself?”

“Uh…yes? What do you-…I…I’m stronger than I look, I’ll have you know! Don’t look down on me, miss.”

“Ah, that was not my ambition. My apologies for the assumption. And I’m all gratitude for the punctual intervention. With you excluded from the equation, I presumably would be in their clutches.”

This statement renders a smile onto the human, something shy, but equally elated.  
“No…no problem! It’s not every day that I have the opportunity to stumble into one of your kind either. Not uh, elves. I meant…  
You’re a death knight, aren’t you?”

“So it is.”

“Ah, as I thought.”

“Not to be inordinately disrespectful, but what _is_ a human like you doing out in Tirisfal? Presuming what you spoke of not being registered with the Alliance is accurate.”

“I was…eh, I’ve been travelling in the area, matching what I suggested, for a handful of errands. In a sense…but I’m not purely a driftless human – I’m engaged with the Cenarion Circle.”

Now that she meditates on it, Trienza comes to grasp that this lady’s accent isn’t…quite adhering. She can’t pinpoint her to Lordaeron City. Further west, arguably?  
“Wait, the Cenarion Circle? I was journeying in Northrend when that name passed me by. Aren’t they…  
You’re a druid?”

“Spot on!”

Trienza surveys her briefly again.  
“…but you’re human.”

“Heeey, that…that doesn’t exclude me from any career. I can do the nature nonsense as well as any elf!”

“…nature nonsense? You don’t have the greatest reverence for it, sounds like.”  
Her tone takes on a faintly humorous twist.

“T…that was-…I-…ah, bugger it.” She deflates and shrugs. “I do, it’s only…I was…uggh...”

This woman is queerly stuttery and she continues to look off from Trienza in an awkward and lightly sheepish capacity.  
“How old are you?”

“Huh? Oh, uh…34. Why?”

“Aren’t humans adults by that age?”

“That’s…correct. Long ago, but…” She abruptly gains a conflated aspect. “…hold on, what’s this expected to mean?”

“Forget it.”

This Livia retains a dazed and a little struck exterior by what Trienza is insinuating, but the Commander doesn’t equip the desire to elaborate. Nor is she keen to accuse the human of a definite element either, for professedly, she was rescued from some rather dire fate. Being grateful to some extent is just appropriate then, isn’t it?  
“Did you enact anything on me?”

“Enact? Like what?”

“I sense a peculiar type of…pain.”

“Uhm…okay, but you _did_ descend roughly a hundred meters down…which, by the way, I don’t believe _anyone_ could’ve survived at normal circumstances.”

“No, no, you misjudge me – I am a death knight, as you so astutely heeded. We are undead entities, and thus physical impressions of suffering are almost flat out deadened. But even beyond that, the Lich King guaranteed that his knights would be exceedingly resilient, to the level where severe damage or torture would be all but a nonissue.”

Livia stares at her, somewhat horrified.  
“…but that’s…that’s awful. If you get hurt, there is no way for you fully know until you’re…”

“We were expendable. They didn’t call him a tyrant for nothing.”

“I…I suppose you’re right.”  
Livia sees fit to deliberate over it, biting her lower lip.  
“Could it be my healing? The nature magic I buried into you.”

Trienza sits up, crosses her legs and lays her arms in her lap.  
“How would this idea have legs? Druids have layered me with their spells before like nothing.”

“Mm…but have you sustained this height of affliction in past experiences? I make no bones about that I was called to go pretty deep to mend the sum of the bruises.”

Trienza lowers her vision to her palm, placing the previous run-ins with such pinches. No, it is warranted she’s never before crashed from the skies. And this was…pretty astoundingly rough.  
“Perhaps not.”

In time with her, Livia looks on with some compelling sentiment.  
“So, you’re telling me that there is pain surging into your body past what you’re used to?”

“Breaking the normality, yes.”

Livia slides her fingers along her upper lip.  
“And this was by the insertion of a spare sliver of nature magic…that’s only too interesting. Huh, I wonder…”

But Trienza isn’t as roped in and drives it off her.  
“You hinted that you’re working for the Circle? What’s their meaning in Tirisfal? Exploration? Investigation?”

“Hmm? Eh, halfway into the woods, you mean? Well, this individual trip was solely to gather some surplus plants, to be fair, to browse what’s survived the plague.  
Sadly, it’s rather undecided if I can attain a good batch that make any difference. But I am heading for the Undercity to question the denizens on this very subject, aside from conducting a bit of trade.”

“How fortunate, as this is my mission too. To make for the capital, that is. Or it was, prior to the interruption by our foes. But this holdback won’t detain me for long.”

“Ahh, I don’t reckon you had better divert there yet. Not before getting a decent worth of rest.”

“Rest does not affect a death knight. We do not recover at the same pace nor pattern as the living.”  
Be that as it may, Livia doesn’t merely accept Trienza’s self-rigorous attitude well and truly. Rather, she expends a disconcerted look, one that burns with such a heart. And it’s…quite perplexing. Those eyes…it’s nearly alike to those days Rivaryn applied them while soliciting her to bring in some new pet or whatever. It drives Trienza to a sigh.  
“…but I estimate I could hold for a few minutes.”

This bags her a satisfied smile from the human and Trienza shakes her head. Why does her soul have to be so weak to such warming notions?  
Livia alters the subject somewhat.  
“Are you hungry?”

“No. Death knights do not grow hungry.”  
Saying that, with a living figure at this measure of proximity, internally, Trienza discerns an impulsive and overwhelming lust to rip into and feast upon the human’s agony. Punch her, bite her, kick her whilst she’s down…but she drives it back. Trienza will never be a slave to such vile urges. She wasn’t in the past and she won’t be in the present.  
In the process of Livia getting a snack – a sandwich it seems and a bottle of water – and reading some notebook upon a theme that Trienza cannot catch at this extension, with the elf slapping her armor back on, several minutes float away. Then, she peers at her environment with dissatisfaction.  
“I can’t see my blade.”

Livia looks up.  
“Blade?”, she wonders with half a mouth of food.

“Yes, my runeblade. Which…ah, right. Vanished during the fall, I take it.”

The human scratches her cheek and swallows her grub.  
“Mm. There wasn’t a weapon at your side when I pulled you away.”

“Then it has to be in our vicinity, besides if it was taken away. It is linked to me. I am bound to track it with some effort. A moment.”

She clogs her gaze, zeroes her thoughts in on the object and then swathes the magical plane with her searchlight. Unfortunately, this uncommon twinge in her chest does hamper her abilities and she gets aware of her body quaking, blocking what she’s picking over. In that ambience, a flashback floods her conceptual understanding, blinds her to the truth and enlightens her to a ruby light…  
  


* * *

  
_For a fourth time in an abundantly brief time span, Trienza discovers herself fielded back to olden Quel’Thalas, a setting which to her remains the_ real _one, despite now having meandered away into obscurity years before, and has been but a memory as an effect of the Scourge’s atrocities._

_On this day, wont to be one and a half week down the line from the preliminary call of the assessor to her lair, Trienza has returned to the Southern Quel’Thalas Forward Command Center out of a patrol including a portion of her recruits. Trienza is not a woman who focuses upon supervising the officers a step below her, for she frequently directly takes charge of the drilling of fledgling troops, coalescing with them for lessons, target practice, occasionally attending lunch breaks, or such as today, progressing out into the field. Even though elements of her advisors and lieutenants differ, beholden to that they surveil the borders of this country – explicitly adjacent to the Amani – she is of the belief that novices are in need of a primer on the frontlines. Not singularly to provoke the trolls, as they never traverse to that faint contiguity, but if nothing else, to touch the edge and become informed of what their enemy appear as, whilst in the same vein staying out of sight. This tactic has accomplished much for her thus far._

_With regard to the senior assessor, Trienza has now hosted two additional visits from her and a separate lady from their committee, one who completes the practical stuff._  
_Trienza won’t hide her emotions of that they’re in her way, generally intruding on her privacy, but any bid to appeal to their better nature to view it her way have been for naught. This leaves her in a state of having to bear it._

_But matters today take a faintly aggravating turn. Coming back to the military grounds behind a patrol and lunch break, she’s retracing her daily path to the office. Her work lodgings is not a vast foothold, positioned in the upper floor of the officer complex. Navy blue walls, grey floor, two windows to the west and the south. Her centerpiece is the wooden desk carved out of local southern breeds, stable as rocks would be. A variety of shelves edge the walls behind it and on either end, packed with documents and contents she would require at a moment’s notice._

_Trienza isn’t a woman who flaunts such articles as diplomas, awards or distinctions, however, and consequently, nothing of that worth can be prospected in view. She does keep a couple of spare weapons to bust out, but that is for crisis purposes of an attack within the building and not for show. Should there be weapons that she’s keen to erect for accessorial reasons, she’d slap them onto the walls back home. Her office is a room for professionalism, not frivolous bravado._

_In addition, a scatter of people have free access to these quarters, where one of them is a young woman who under this very course of time bursts out of the door to the officer facility across Trienza’s own attempted entry, and barely staggers into her, but they’re each creditably alert to avoid it._  
_Trienza here arrives face to face with an inexperienced elf, significantly her junior, with fair skin, mild sky blue gaze, raven black hair in a ponytail, strapped into an average uniform with black outer formations and streaks. She’s met this adorable young woman on a couple of occasions at this state, owing to that she’s a recruit who prevailed in the tests recently to be made a genuine Farstrider. Her name is Rivaryn Silvershroud, and Trienza fancied her mannerisms to point of setting her up as the latest administrative aide of the Captain herself. Trienza hasn’t procured one of this rank in a couple of years, sequential to the former’s reassignment up northwest, into the hands of another Captain. Trienza didn’t harbor any subjective dislike for that man, but he was manifestly concerned with his rise in the ranks and Trienza wasn’t going to trip him over._

_And to let it all out, Trienza hasn’t decided on the idea for signing this lady either, as trying to really explore the conduct of Rivaryn, she’s somewhat of a hassle, isn’t she? First on the list, she’s the mold of ranger who carries a great affinity for animals than the median soldier, and she has a habit of dragging them around. She literally influenced Trienza into permitting a couple of the damn beasts in their region to be held in their stables. This did admit a minimum of one predator, a lynx, which conventionally aren’t ideal house partners of dragonhawks or hawkstriders. But regretfully, Trienza hasn’t had the commitment to deny the younger woman, for there is…an ingredient to her which has such an effect on Trienza. Something with her face. She can muster a stage of sweetness that…claws at Trienza’s heart. It’s all but impossible to refuse, which naturally to her is pathetic – the hardened Sah’nir of the southern command center doesn’t budge to physical devices as this. _Shouldn’t_ budge to it. And yet…_  
_Hmm. Is there perchance a seed of mental magic locked in her? No, that’s probably just senseless thought._

_And there’s more to it, with her being a Silvershroud, a family which to a majority of Quel’Thalas have been repressed, exempting those who have knowledge of history,_ especially _the nobility. The Silvershrouds were once a noble house, a tremendously ancient one it is said, among those prestigious in the capital of the kaldorei empire. Trienza was even told once by her brother of a rumor that they had an advisor among the ruler prior to Queen Azshara, but the facts are ambiguous at best._  
_They had a rather grand reversal of fortune, for the Silvershrouds disgraced themselves by practicing forbidden magic, and were exiled from Silvermoon City by the royals. Some claim it was miraculous they weren’t cast out of Quel’Thalas entire, forced to dwell at the edge not solely of society, but the country itself._

_That said, Trienza has from the first held the opinion that this tale is moderately overstated. Along with a boatload of other families and houses – not forgetting her own - the Sunstriders are not innocent, and she has queries of this really being an elegant affair of honor or purity. No, politics were entailed in this at that era, as it ever is, even now._  
_This is the point of how it can get tricky to keep a Silvershroud on staff, with their being a stigma centralized on them, and people are fond of sneering or downright spitting on them in case of them getting near. Trienza has quite markedly forbidden customs of this ilk. With Silvershrouds being few and far between in the Farstriderrs, and her earnestly liking this one, she prefers to let Riv feel welcome. Mainly, she’s proven to be a lovely person, which has favored her in endearing herself to the youngsters in any event._

_“W-whoa! There you are, Captain. Shocked me…I was searching for you.”_

_“Were you now?”, she responds dryly and rhetorically. “What is it?”_

_“I uh…” She glances downwards, into her hands. “Got a few messages and dispatches for you. Lieutenant Soraan and Sergeant Vaelyn had some updates amid their patrols. Soraan disclosed something concerning a camp to the southeast, but I haven’t brushed over the text thus far. Also, Corporal Syvie has looped back from her shift in the capital and brought segments of events surrounding Ranger Lord Theron that she said were noteworthy.”_

_“Right. Hit me with them on the way”, she alleges and launches into a tempo pointing to the stairs._

_Riv keeps up and speeds along to share the details of the information. Sometimes, it is proving rather overpowering for her with a given count of this duty, in the face of pulling the whole package off with proficiency. Trienza does adjust for this on and off, such as in the now, where she defuses a percentage of the apprehension by suspending her gait, preventing Riv from meaninglessly stumbling over her own words._

_But upon getting her door into a tangible angle, Riv clears her throat and glances nervously against it._  
_“And uh, one last thing. I-I would’ve briefed you before, but…there wasn’t the time for it, so…”_

_“Spit it out”, Trienza expresses relatively peacefully._

_“There is…there’s a caller in your workroom. She’s been idling in there for the interim you were out. She decreed that she must have a dialogue with you, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. She…I…she said she intended to pass the time in your office. I warned her this was pretty out of order, but…”_

_Trienza ruckles her brow and Riv’s eyes flop down sheepishly._  
_“She?”_

_“Yes, a category of uh…administrator? Or something to that effect.”_

_Tsk. There’s a surprise, huh? Patently it was her. Trienza appreciates that Riv has the whiff of a pushover, due to being sweet slightly out of proportion. She doesn’t have it in her to get tough with visitors, not yet._  
_“I…I can run her out, assuming that’s what you ask of me, Captain…”_

_Trienza expels a breath and lifts her hand in rejection._  
_“…no, don’t bother. It’s alright, thank you. I’ll shoulder this encounter personally. Return to your post.”_

_“Y-yes, Captain.” Riv salutes and veers to take off._

_And with the Captain going through the point of entry to the room, who does she see but the privy mien of a gorgeous bureaucrat, sitting not in the strictly designated seat for guests, but the exact chair of the holder of the room, arms in her lap and legs crossed, staring out the window._  
_Exhaling and unhanding her bag, the thud of it snags the preoccupation and arching of the assessor’s lips._

_Trienza herself braids her arms._  
_“You are persistent.”_

_Efaria draws her head behind and spurts a laughter. It grates on Trienza, for the sake of that the note of it is insultingly lyrical, magnificent to hear. The fact that she colors it as attractive is obscene. She ought to loathe that damn sound…but she doesn’t._  
_“More like dedicated to my craft. A virtue I’m positive we share.”_

_“Supposedly.”_  
_Trienza seals the door, wishful that no one save Riv scanned the feats of Efaria’s current nonsense._

_“Saw your aide earlier, the Silvershroud – what a lovely young woman. Bit on the shy side, though, isn’t she?”_

_Trienza hoists shoulders and gravitates to her desk, to judge the messages Riv fetched._  
_“She is a useful resource and talented at what she does.”_

_“And cute.”_

_“That is irrelevant.”_

_“No, it’s not. C’mon, don’t be so pouty. ‘Sweet’ comes to mind for you as well, doesn’t it?”_

_Trienza glares at the second woman, but then ceases it in a forthcoming moment. She’s observant at this state that such rigor doesn’t nab this independent lady. Which, speaking of, languishes as an infuriating prospect._  
_“So, do you wish to advise me of what in Dath’Remar’s name you’ve gotten to in my office? I assumed our days in joint action were numbered. Shouldn’t you be in _your_ professional seat?”_

_Efaria’s mouth warps into a smirk and she tips her head, laying a forearm at one of the arm rests. Somewhat belatedly, Trienza picks out that Efaria is rocking a low-cut shirt today again. Chances are that this is a straight up bog standard flair of hers then. She has cultivated some attractive assets, so it’s not impossible she revels in exhibiting them._  
_“How applicably entertaining. Did you imagine they would be constrained to one or two inspection sessions?”_

_“Well…I wish, but no. But then, this isn’t my house. What do you believe you’re doing_ here _?”_

_“Ah, I wanted a moment of your time, as a matter of fact. I bore some files with me that you took the time to hand over, since I’ve studied the cataloging of the house’s history. Just some particulars to skim and evaluate, nothing substantial. But I figured we could work through it swiftly as I’m in this station. I’m familiar with that it’s not to your satisfaction to have others intrude at your home.”_

_Hmm, Trienza cogitates to herself. Efaria actually…apprehends Trienza sufficiently to heed her comforts? That’s…nice, in a manner of speaking. And that she’d take notice to start with and then recollect it…perhaps she isn’t the hindrance Trienza enumerates her as._  
_“Well, today is quite an occupied day. I had to fetch the troops for a tour outside, so I’m behind on some of the paperwork.”_

_“Mm, that’s no bother. I can burn some daylight. The entire day, if I’ve got to.”_

_“Waiting inside my military center? I can’t see how that’s prudent. And inefficient besides. It’ll be much too distracting.”_

_The smug and self-composed smirk reverses to Efaria’s countenance, and then steadily, exhilaratingly, she inclines ahead, against the desk. She partially sticks down her upper half with her thick chest on top of her wreathed arms, so it’s sitting as a main event for any sight aimed at her._  
_“For them, or for you?”, she asks with a suggestive impact._

_Trienza narrows her gaze._  
_“You realize I can order you to get out of here? You’re a civilian in an army outpost.”_

_“And I’ll abide by it, no question. But look into your heart – is that_ decidedly _what you’re after?”_

_The Captain grumbles. She’s so…exasperating._  
_“As long as you’re set on compromising my work, I-“_

_“I’m not, as it happens. Come to think of it, provided you have a load of documentation to get through, I can let you lean on me. It is my specialty, you might’ve distinguished.”_

_Trienza shakes her head, prepared to dismiss her…but her tasks have mounted to quite absurd altitudes lately. Perhaps…_  
_“…will it get you to leave any sooner?”_

_Efaria then takes to her feet, sashays over to Trienza, hooks one of her hands, and lends it a soft kiss on the back._  
_“We’ll just find out how comprehensive your endeavors are, now won’t we?”_  
  


* * *

  
Reemerging in the ‘real’ world, Trienza lids crack open and she searches the scenery, with Livia twitching.  
“I’ve located the sword”, she reveals, slightly astonished she pulled herself out of her own dream.

Livia is agape, but there’s a dichotomy to her purport’s complexion.  
“Hold…that thought. You can sense this weapon of yours?”

“Yes, in light of its energy signature. It likens my own. The Lich King saw to that.”

“You don’t say? And uh, what…what do you intend to-“

“I’m going after it.”

“What, right away? Just wait for a short while, won’t you? I fared to restore shares of your wounds and stabilize you, but I’m not as accomplished regarding your physiology. Might be a little delay. Let’s stick around and afterwards, we can forage for it together? We’ll be there in a jiffy, I can feel it.”

Trienza draws something reluctant at the human, but she can confess that she isn’t in a fantastic mood.  
“…as you wish”, she agrees remorsefully.

She internally surveys ideas of where her aides and Ryane are bunked down. She hopes they survived the onslaught better than she did.


End file.
